


Ἐν οἴνῳ ἀλήθεια

by lunardistance



Category: Sound Horizon
Genre: Alcohol, Gen, Implied Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-30
Updated: 2013-04-30
Packaged: 2017-12-10 00:20:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/779645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunardistance/pseuds/lunardistance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>even amethystos is not impervious to the drugging call of wine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ἐν οἴνῳ ἀλήθεια

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ailiathirske](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=ailiathirske).



> written for **ailia** 's birthday; reposted here for safekeeping.

                Dionsysus, god of wine and revelry. Nowhere near as powerful as the likes of the Mother Goddess, Moira, let alone Thanatos, but he still has himself a healthy share of followers. Even the former slaves long freed from their binds still find themselves worshipping to him at makeshift altars of poorly constructed campfires, raising crudely brewed wine in his name all through the night.

                The slaves, however, rarely find their general with a bottle on his hand and a woman on his lap. Even when they luck out and manage to strike a good bargain with the Barbaroi for some of their finer brews as well as catch the eyes of local village girls, he is never to be found among the rowdy crowd. He believes naught in Dionysus or any of the other gods.

                There are, however, rare occasions that even Amethystos will succumb to the drugging call of wine – on long days that negotiations do not go well, when skirmishes result in greater losses than anticipated, when the clouds gather on his brow and his fearsome black sword drips with red.

                The two subordinate generals will know first, almost scarily attuned to the moods of their leader. At those times, the general’s tent—usually open to all in case of emergencies—will be sealed off completely. Sirius will disappear for half a candle’s mark and return from the nearest settlement with bottles of the finest wine the place has to offer (how he obtains it, he will never tell). Orpheus will seal off the tent behind Sirius, a single look enough to warn all not to approach for the rest of the night.

                Oftentimes Amethystos has to be coaxed into the first cup. His fouler moods make him especially resistant to his lieutenants’ efforts, and the victory of the first drink is almost as sweet as one on the battlefield. However, the initial taste is well won and often gives way to a flowing bottle for the rest of the night. By the second cup, most of the tension has seeped from the general’s shoulders, and his eyes have warmed over from amethyst to purple.

                By the third cup, he discards the name he has taken on for the purpose of the rebellion and returns to the name he has been called from birth. Amethystos the slave army general retires for the night, giving way to Elefseus, the boy who longed to ride the wind’s back.

                The subordinate generals themselves are not impervious to the call of Dionysus, for they too have their share of discarded pasts. Sirius often starts first, sometime after the fifth shared cup. His usual brusque tone, dreaded by the younger members of the resistance, softens to a low voice tinged with nostalgia as he recounts the story of the bright-haired boy he found washed up on a beach when they were both children; of how that boy had grown up into the best archer in all of Hellenes, only to be shot down in his prime by the very side that had claimed him; of how his grief had turned to the blinding need for revenge (not only for the boy, but for the faith that he had lost that day), and how he had sought out the growing slave army to add to their cause.

                (If Elefseus’ grip on the cup tightens at the mention of the boy, none of them comment on it.)

                Orpheus’ turn to share comes after the seventh cup. Aside from being a quick-witted strategist, the man is also an extremely talented lyre player – on the rare occasion that he takes his lyre out, a remnant from even before his period of slavery, it is often said that he could soften even the heart of the guardian of Hades with his talents. These nights are such rare occasions, and he spins a song about a youth who fell in love with a woman, only to lose her to the venomous bite of a snake on the very day they were joined together. In his grief, the youth lost all hope; when traders happened upon him one day and thought to make a slave out of him, his only thought was that perhaps, in his eventual death under cruel masters, he might see his wife once again.

               Elefseus’ story comes last, long after the final notes of Orpheus’ lyre fade and the bottles are almost empty of wine. He speaks of a sister and brother that once lived without knowledge of the cruelties of fate — all they knew of was the mountains, the sky, their parents and each other, until the day that a scorpion came to destroy their small world, and soon after, by human hands, they were torn apart as well. For a brief moment, they were reunited, escaping the howling of the wind with a bright-haired boy, only to be torn apart by the whims of cruel gods. Still, they kept their hope that the threads of fate would lead them to each other again, until the boy discovered that the threads were cut where they would finally entangle together again.

                It is at this point that Elefseus finally allows the tears to streak down his face, clear moisture mingling with the deep purple wine in his cup. This is the cue for Sirius to take the cup, throwing out the salty-sweet mixture as Orpheus leads Elefseus to his cot.

                The two stay by his side until Elefseus finally drifts off into the arms of sleep, the breathy sigh of a dead woman’s name on his lips.


End file.
